


This is Your Heart

by badwolfofbakerstreet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Slow Burn, as slow of a burn as a oneshot can be, because I wrote this before TAB, lame song reference, looking at my old fics, that Bastille song, there is no Victorian hallucination, this was before I knew how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-17 02:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2293550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfofbakerstreet/pseuds/badwolfofbakerstreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, a young girl looking for her mother, a consulting criminal's promise to collect on a debt, and a decision that could change all their lives forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this and just had to keep writing and keep writing and here I am six hours later with a finished product. Damn you Bastille and your amazing music... When you get to the end of this, the pinnacle point in the story... If you wanna start listening to Laura Palmer by Bastille as you read, go ahead. You'll understand where the inspiration came from. :)

Sherlock Holmes might very well have been the toughest man in existence to live with. He was rude, arrogant and nearly impossible to talk to. He’d nearly isolated himself from everyone with his behavior, except for John Watson. He’d spent years trailing after him, helping at crime scenes, helping with social situations, helping him make tea every day, and by helping it meant that John made him tea every day. But, they were mates, eventually he considered him the best. His best friend.

Then he died, like the bloody prat that he is, he went and jumped off a building. John grieved for two years, sometimes he’d think he was still grieving his loss. He closed his eyes at night and saw him walk towards him, enticing him to visit that first crime scene with him, then he’d look up and see him falling. Then he’d wake up, and it didn’t matter that he was alive, he still felt like he’d be dead.

On this particular morning John woke up to the sound of knocking, hurried and unsure and John sprang up, looking around groggily. Mary made a noise, turning over in bed and John sighed, looking down at his pregnant wife, furrowing his brow. If he’d had a choice in the matter, he wouldn’t stay there, not with her. She’d shot his best friend for Christ’s sake. The knocking sounded through the house again and John hurried out of bed and to the door, having forgotten about it.

“Yes, yes, hold your bloody horses.” He growled, opening the door. A young girl stood before him, tears running down her face.

“Are you John Watson?” She cried, her accent American.

“Uh... Yes.” John replied, stepping back warily, “Who are you?” He licked his lips nervously and waited for her reply.

“Oh, my name is Olivia Green... Can you take me to Sherlock Holmes?” She seemed hopeful, sniffing back another fit of tears.

“I suppose... H-how did you find out where I live?” John asked, turning away from the door slightly before looking back.

“He’s got your address listed on his website, says he’s temporarily unavailable... But I need to see him!” She held up a printed piece of paper and John grabbed it a bit too angrily, staring at the address which was definitely his, listen on Sherlock’s website.

“Bloody...” John clenched his jaw, crumpling the paper as he turned around, swiveling back to her, “Uh, come in, I’ll get dressed. He should be coming home from hospital today...” He smiled awkwardly as she shut the door behind her, stepping into the house. He ushered her into the living room and she sat on the couch, with one last wary glance he ran up the stairs, getting dressed.

“Who’s here?” Mary asked, sitting up.

“Client.” John replied shortly and Mary sighed, knowing that’d be the most conversation they would have that day. He dressed quickly and silently, looking at Mary one last time before he left the room. He ran down the stairs to find Olivia still sitting in the same spot he’d left her in, biting her thumb nail. He took a moment to observe her, her blonde hair was dyed, beginning to go darker at the roots. Her blue eyes were blood shot, she’d been crying for quite some time, probably got lost on her way to find his house. Her leg was shaking, she was experiencing withdrawal of some kind as her hand was shaking. He shook it off, Sherlock had rubbed off on him far too much.

“Ready to go?” He asked, offering his kindest smile. She sniffed, smiling back as she stood, following John out the door. They took a cab to Baker Street, getting out at the exact same time a black car pulled up in front of the flat. John paid and exited the cab, Olivia followed soon there after, nervously fidgeting with her hands.

“Ah, John, so lovely for you to have come to visit the moment of my brother’s return to Baker Street.” Mycroft Holmes stepped out of the black car, his tone smug as usual as he stared down the army doctor.

“Mycroft.” John growled, hardly paying him any attention.

“And who’s this?” He asked, looking to Olivia.

“Olivia Green.” She said softly, holding out her hand to the elder Holmes who shook it slowly, no doubt deducing every detail of the girls life, his eyebrows so high they were almost to his hair line.

“A client for Sherlock, yes.” He smiled, “That’ll spark his interest for sure.”

“Yeah, well...” John said, still not on the best terms with the British government, “We’ll be going in then... Unless you were about to...”

“Oh, no, now that you’re here I’m sure my brother will have no patience for me.” And with one last interested look at Olivia he climbed into the black car that was still waiting with its door open and it drove away.

“That was Sherlock’s brother?” Olivia asked as they made their way to the front door.

“Yeah.”

“Seems like a creep.” She said and John turned, smiling at her surprised.

“Some people think so.” John replied, pushing into 221B.

“You think so.” She stated.

“I do.” He said, heading up the stairs. Olivia looked around, taking in all the features of the entry way before following John up the stairs.

“John.” Sherlock shouted from the sitting room.

“Yeah.” John replied, walking through the door.

“You’ve brought someone, not Mary.” The detective said, leaning back from his place at the kitchen table where he was experimenting on a finger.

“No.” He replied.

“You two still not on the best terms? You’ve really got to forgive her, John, it’s nearly Christmas.” Sherlock scolded, dropping the finger into a liquid of some sort before he followed John into the sitting room, removing his goggles as he did so. John set a chair up in the middle of the room, between their chairs, “Oh so she’s a client, is she?”

“I am.” Olivia said, looking at Sherlock bewildered.

“Well then.” Sherlock sighed, looking at the girl for the first time, his eyes widening before he smirked and sat down, “Tell us why you’re here.” He and John sat opposite each other and Olivia sat in the chair set out for her.

“Alright, well, my name is Olivia, Olivia Green...” She began quietly, clearing her throat, “And I’ve come here because... I’d like you to find my mother.”

“When did your mother go missing?” John asked, suddenly concerned about the girl.

“Eighteen years ago.” She replied sadly, looking down at her twisted hands, “I was two, she gave me up.” She shrugged, smiling sadly at the two men.

“So why have you decided to find her now?” Sherlock asked, staring at her intently.

“Curiosity...” She half smiled, “Plus I have Lupus, having kidney trouble, it’d be nice to know if she’s a match... Maybe she’d feel bad about abandoning me, offer one up, if I ever needed it.” She sighed, sitting back against the chair as if telling her story was a weight off her shoulders.

“Interesting.” Sherlock said, “Why come to London?”

“You’re in London.” She replied simply, “There’s no one as brilliant as Sherlock Holmes in Providence, Rhode Island.”

“You’re a long way from home.” John stated.

“Like I said... Not a lot of outlets to find my mom in Rhode Island.”

“What can you tell me about your mother?” Sherlock asked, leaning forward, John knew that meant he was interested.

“Not a lot... Um, her name is Annie Green... She worked at a pet store... She had me when she was 19... Gave me up about two years later. Don’t know why, there was no note or anything. She just left me at a fire station.” She breathed deeply after finishing her story, as if it was a supremely difficult tale to tell. John looked from her to Sherlock, hoping he’d agree to take the case.

“Fascinating.” Sherlock said after a while, holding out the ‘f’ for a few beats longer than average, “I’ll take the case.” He smirked from her to John who smiled at him.

“Thank you so much!” She exclaimed, almost hopping out of her seat.

“We will get started on finding out as much as we can about your mother, just let us know where you’re staying once you get settled in and we’ll keep in touch.” John said, standing, ushering her up and out of the chair.

“Oh, right. I-” She was cut off by a ‘yoo-hoo’ from Mrs. Hudson.

“Sherlock!” She called, walking into the room with a tray full of tea and biscuits, “Oh I thought I heard you too, John. Oh and who’s this?” She smiled excitedly, setting down the tray.

“Olivia Green, we’re going to help her find her mother.” Sherlock sprang out of his chair, pouring himself a cuppa.

“Your mother’s gone missing? Oh you poor dear.” She held her hand to her heart, a look of heartbreak crossing her face.

“Eighteen years ago.” Olivia said, trying to reassure Mrs. Hudson.

“She’s American!” Mrs. Hudson giggled, “You’ve come a long way, but I suppose word of Sherlock’s talents has reached farther than he thinks.” She smiled warmly, bringing out a smile in the girl as well.

“It sure has.” She smiled widely, “But uh, yeah... I guess I’ll just make my way to a hotel of some sort. Didn’t think this trip through completely.” She laughed awkwardly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Oh you don’t have a place to stay?” Mrs. Hudson asked, her fretful look returning, “You poor dear.”

“It’s no big deal. I’ll find a place.” Olivia assured her, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

“You can stay here.” Mrs. Hudson decided, looking to Sherlock and John, “She can have John’s old room.”

“She can what?” Sherlock asked, his brow instantly furrowing.

“Oh no, that’s alright, I can find a place, easy.” Olivia said, holding up her hands in defense.

“Nonsense.” Mrs. Hudson said, and it was decided, “Give me your bag.” She held out her hand and Olivia looked to John and Sherlock nervously before passing the bag along. Once she had it in her hands she shoved it at John, “John, be a dear and take this upstairs.” John took the bag with a frown, looking to Sherlock who was extremely amused before he turned and walked up the stairs to his old room. He walked slowly through the door, breathing in deeply before setting the bag down on the floor as he stared across his old domain. He hadn’t been back in there since before Sherlock jumped. The emotion being in that old room brought on was a bit overwhelming.

“You ok?” Sherlock said suddenly from behind him, making John jump. He whipped around to see Sherlock standing inches from him.

“Yeah.” He said too quickly, stepping back a bit from the detective, “I’m fine, just a bit weird, passing this room along to someone else.”

“I know.” Sherlock smirked, looking around the room as if it meant just as much to him as it did to John, “It’ll be weird living with someone besides you.” The sentiment wasn’t lost on John who smiled softly up at the detective.

“You’ll be fine.” He assured him.

“Oh I’m sure. It’ll just give me extra incentive to find her mother and get her out of here as quickly as possible.” He said quickly, his inner prat returning and he swiveled quickly heading down the stairs, leaving John to roll his eyes and follow him.

They walked back into the sitting room where Olivia was sitting awkwardly on the couch, testing out a cup of tea.

“Did you make that for yourself, or did Mrs. Hudson prepare it?” Sherlock asked, watching her sip the hot beverage.

“Mrs. Hudson.” She sipped, she winced, then she tilted her head, “Not bad.”

“Don’t they have tea in America?” Sherlock asked, rather rudely, sitting at the table, in front of an already open laptop as he began typing vigorously.

“Yeah... It’s just mostly cold and sweet.” She smiled, setting the cup down.

“Oh.” Sherlock mumbled, leaning into the computer, “Alright, John, help out a bit, come on.” John sighed, sitting across from Sherlock.

“Can I do anything to help?” Olivia asked eagerly.

“Um... Yes, write down the names of anyone who knew your mother, came into contact with her, anything that would be helpful, descriptions or otherwise.” Sherlock sounded off quickly, hardly looking up from his computer screen.

“Why did you accept this case?” John asked quietly a few minutes later, looking up from the computer he was currently looking through.

“Good way to keep my mind off of Magnussen.” Sherlock replied simply.

“Course.” John grunted.

“Have you spoken to Mary recently?” Sherlock asked suddenly, glancing up from his screen. John glanced back, his mouth twitching nervously as he sniffed in hard.

“Not really, no.” He growled.

“You really should reconcile with her.”

“Right.” John laughed, “You really should stop defending her. She shot you.”

“Yes, but only because she saw no other choice.” Sherlock defended.

“She could have just come clean right then and there.” John said quickly, “Instead she chose to shoot my best friend. I mean really, the nerve...” He stopped himself before he got too loud, glancing back at Olivia who had headphones in as she wrote on a piece of paper, “She was only looking out for herself, Sherlock. She didn’t care about your feelings, or mine for that matter.”

“But she didn’t kill me-”

“She could have.” John cut him off, his eyes staring daggers into the detectives, “Okay, she knew...” He stopped, calming himself again, “She knew exactly what it was like for me after I watched you...” He cut himself off, but Sherlock knew how that sentence ended, “And she put me back together, so she knew. And then she shot you. She knew I’d find you. She couldn’t have possibly been thinking about me in that instance, because finding you near death...” He shook his head, going back to his researching. Sherlock smiled sadly across at his friend before looking back to his own computer.

“If for nothing else, do it for the child.” Sherlock said quietly and John squeezed his eyes shut, scrubbing his face with his hands.

“Yeah.” John sighed, clearing his throat, “Invite us to Christmas dinner at your parent’s house and I’ll forgive her.” He smiled, knowing Sherlock would never do that.

“It’s done.” Sherlock said.

“What?”

“You and Mary will come to Christmas dinner.” He looked across at John who was now glaring at him, “And at this dinner, you will forgive Mary for her transgressions. For the sake of the child.”

“You just want to experiment on it.” John shook his head, smiling across at his former flat mate.

“I’d never dream of it.” Sherlock replied, smirking.

And then Christmas happened, and then Sherlock shot Magnussen. And John found himself storming up the stairs of 221B, surprising a very unsuspecting Olivia.

“Oh! John!” She shouted, hopping off the couch. John glared at her before looking around at the flat, shouting as he toppled over a random chair, “Are you alright?” She asked,

“Where’s Sherlock.”

“In jail.” John growled.

“Wait, what?” She asked, bringing her hands to her mouth, concerned.

“He went and got himself, bloody arrested!” John said, ending on a shout, “What’s worse is that he did it for me and my lying wife.” He plopped down in his chair, rubbing his eyes as he sat in silence for the next few moments. Olivia stared down at him sadly, unsure of what to do in this situation, an idea sprang on her.

“Oh! I know... Do you want a cup of tea?” She asked, running into the kitchen, “Mrs. Hudson told me that’s what you guys do when you’re upset. You drink tea...” She came back into the room holding a box of loose leaf earl grey and another box of chamomile, “Which one would be better for this situation?” She held them out to him and he turned to her, an incredulous smile on his face before he shook his head and began laughing uncontrollably, “Was it something I said?” She asked quietly, bringing the boxes to her chest, suddenly very self-conscious.

“Yes.” John laughed, “No not in a bad way, though. Thank you.” He said, looking at her again, laughing harder at the way she hugged the boxes to her, her face wide eyed and confused. Once he calmed down he sniffed, wiping at his eyes before looking at her again, “I’m okay, thank you though, really.”

“Ok.” She said, walking back into the kitchen and setting the boxes down on the table, “So... Not to be rude but... If Sherlock is in jail... I guess this means he won’t find my mom, huh?”

“Probably not, no... But I’ll do my best to help.” John smiled reassuringly, “Hell, I’ll ask Mycroft for help if I have to.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, sitting down in Sherlock’s chair across from John.

“So... Olivia... You’re twenty?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at the girl.

“Yeah.” She replied, hugging her legs to her chest.

“Are you in... University?” He asked, tilting his head.

“No... I mean I went to a community college for a few semesters but I dropped out. I was too distracted.” She shrugged the best she could in her position.

“What were you going for?”

“Don’t know... Just basic studies, I guess... I’m not really a planner. I don’t know what my future holds as of yet.” She laughed quietly, “I guess that’s kinda obvious, I hopped on a plane to London to find a detective to help me find my mom without any money or a big picture.”

“You had a goal in mind, at least.” John assured her as he heard creaking from the stair well.

“John?” A voice called, the creaking got louder until Mary walked through the door, a hand resting on her stomach, “You didn’t come back to the house... I figured you’d be here... Where’s Sherlock?” She smiled softly as she walked through the door.

“Oh...” John said sullenly and he turned back to Olivia.

“Oh, who’s this?” She smiled wider, walking more into the flat. Olivia stood, offering her Sherlock’s chair, “Thank you.” Mary said, taking the seat, a protective hand still resting on her stomach.

“I’m Olivia Green...” She said, “Sherlock and John are helping me find my mom.”

“Yeah?” Mary said, her eyes widening a bit, “I’m sure they’ll find her. Where are you from?”

“Rhode Island.” Olivia stated as if she was a bit embarrassed, “You’re John’s wife?”

“That I am.” Mary replied quietly, averting her eyes quickly from the girl, “So, where is he?” She asked as if expecting something.

“Did you know?” John asked, his brow furrowing, “Did you know his plans for Christmas dinner?”

“Did I know he planned to drug me? No.” Mary rolled her eyes.

“But do you know why?”

“No.” Mary replied, and John had a feeling in his gut that she did, “Why?”

“See we went to Magnussens.” John said, and Mary’s mouth dropped a bit, yeah, definitely lying, John could see it.

“What for?” She asked, feigning concern.

“Sherlock wanted to trade state secrets for information on you.” John said, glancing up at Olivia who was staring at them confused, “All the information actually, he wanted to wipe your record clean.”

“Sorry... Should you be telling me all of this in front of...” Mary glanced up at Olivia, “Sorry.”

“No, it’s ok, I’ll give you guys some privacy.”

“Thank you.” Mary smiled.

“It’s fine.” John held up his hand, as if he believed Olivia should hear the story, “She’s fine. But Mary... Magnussen doesn’t keep hard copies... He files his information away the same way Sherlock does.” Mary gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, that was a real reaction, “So Sherlock...” He stopped, sniffing hard and Mary let out a breath.

“He didn’t.” She said, disbelieving, “No.”

“He did.” John nodded, “Made sure the files on you were in his head and when he said yes, he shot him. Right in front of the police, helicopters and all.”

“Oh no.” Mary cried, her hands moving up to cover her eyes, “For me?”

“For us.” John corrected her, “He says your safe now.” She glanced up from behind her hands, tears forming behind her eyes.

“I never wanted that to happen.” She cried and John rolled his eyes.

“Yeah well that’s the thing about Sherlock.” John sighed, sitting back against his chair, crossing his legs as he did so, “He’ll do just about anything for the people he loves.” Mary smiled sadly across at John who was picking at the arm of the chair. Olivia continued to stand awkwardly for a few more minutes before she walked to the table.

“Oh, John...” She said, picking up a folder from the table, “He left this for you.” She handed it across to him and he stare at it. On the front were the letters A.G.R.A. He glanced up from the folder quickly before stuffing it into his jacket, not wanting Mary to see it.

“Right. Thanks.” He said, settling back against the chair, “You can head home, Mary. I think I’m gonna stay here tonight.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, standing from her seat, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. He reached up and stroked her hand, kissing it before he smiled up at her.

“Yeah.” He shrugged, “Nostalgia.”

“Alright.” She leaned down the best she could and kissed the top of his head before standing, smiling at Olivia, “It was nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too!” She said quickly, Mary smiled softly at her before turning and walking out of the flat.

“She was nice.” Olivia smiled awkwardly.

“Mm.” John replied, pulling the folder out of his jacket, “I uh... I guess I’ll sleep in Sherlock’s room.” He said, standing and turning, heading for the detective’s room.

“Kay!” Olivia shouted, “Night!” She waved, though he couldn’t see her and as the door to Sherlock’s room shut, she folded her hands in front of her, looking down at them sadly,

“Nice talkin to ya.” She said quietly, swiveling around in the room looking for something to do before she gave up and headed to her own room.

As soon as John was in Sherlock’s room he ripped the file open, throwing it onto the bed as he peeled his jacket off. He knew giving Sherlock the flash drive to copy before he burned it in front of Mary was a good idea. He leafed through the papers, looking at pictures of Mary from years before when her initials were R.A.

“Rebecca Arrington.” He said the name quietly, looking at her profile, “But what does A.G. Stand for?” He went through the papers again, nothing in them mentioned anything about who she was before she was Rebecca. She’d been Rebecca for ten years, working as a freelance assassin after going rogue from the CIA. He sighed heavily as he read the information, there was a list of the people she’d worked with. Sherlock had some of them highlighted.

“What’s so special about these people?” John asked himself, as he made it to the last name that was colored with a bright yellow line, there was writing next to it, “Serbian.” He sighed, closing the folder and setting it aside. He’d been so enthralled with the folder that he hadn’t even taken in the fact that he was in Sherlock’s room yet. He leaned back against the headboard, looking around the messy area.

“You wouldn’t clean your room, you crazy git.” He laughed to himself, settling down against a pillow, he shuffled awkwardly, getting the blanket free from beneath him and as he made himself comfortable he turned onto his side, turning his face into the pillow. As he closed his eyes he inhaled deeply, the familiar scent of smoke and chemicals filling his lungs. As he breathed out he sighed a name, not just any name, the name that meant the most to him at that moment, the name of the person he’d just discovered would do anything for him, “Sherlock.”

Seeing Sherlock at the tarmac was particularly hard, because he knew what it meant when Sherlock said six months. He was going to die, there was no doubt about it. This would be the last time they’d see each other, and this time there would be no tricks and no goodbye phone calls. That was it, there in front of that plane. He shook the man’s hand, though he really wanted to hug him, but thought it’d be inappropriate, Sherlock didn’t appreciate hugs. He’d hugged him once, that was at his wedding, and he received no response, so that was the last time he’d tried that. Then his worst nightmare came true.

Sure, Sherlock mentioned that no one could turn his stomach like Charles Augustus Magnussen, but surely he meant no one alive. Because the face that was on the television screen sure turned his guts, alright. Moriarty, James Moriarty, the most dangerous man he’d ever encountered, and he invaded Afghanistan. He was back, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. But if it was up to him this time, he was going to kill the bastard, he’d be sure of it.

“So what do we do?” John asked as he bounded into the flat after Sherlock, Mary on their heels, Mycroft surely wouldn’t be far behind, having come in a different car.

“I don’t know.” Sherlock growled, bursting through the door, frightening Olivia.

“Holy shit!” She shouted, nearly falling off the couch, “The hell! You’re back!” She exclaimed, hopping up and hugging the detective. He stopped dead, his arms stiffly at his sides as she had them pinned down, “I thought you were being exiled?”

“Things have changed.” He croaked, “I need tea. John.” He said, plopping into his chair, his hands massaging at his temples.

“What’s wrong?” Olivia asked, observing everyone’s uneasy looks, especially Mary’s, who had her hand rubbing at her stomach.

“Everything, my mortal enemy has returned, Mary’s going into early labor, John hasn’t brought me my tea!” He shouted at the end, looking up from beneath his hand at John who was stopped dead in his tracks, a cup of tea in his hand.

“Mary’s what?” He asked, looking to his wife who was now rubbing at her face with one hand, the other gripping her stomach.

“Contractions have started.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, standing and grabbing the cup from John, “Thank you.” He said, sipping the drink as he made his way back to his chair.

“Oh, my god. Mary.” John said, walking to her side, feeling her stomach. She began to breath heavily, leaning against John, “We’ve got to get you to hospital.” John said, beginning to freak out, “Right, that’s what we do? I should know this, I’m a bloody doctor.” He began spinning in circles, “This isn’t our house, we don’t have your bag here.”

“Under the table, there’s one for her. She left it here just in case.” Sherlock said calmly, pointing to the table. John practically ran the two feet to it, hoisting the bag from beneath it.

“Good, this is good.” He said, staring at the bag and then back at Sherlock, “This is good, right?”

“It’s good, John. Calm down.” Sherlock commanded, staring at his friend, almost amused. Olivia on the other hand was smiling widely, completely entertained.

“Should I go get you a cab?” She asked, walking to the door.

“Yes, good.” John replied, taking Mary’s hand into his, “Come on, Mary.” He began to walk with her to the stairs before turning back, “Sherlock!” He shouted.

“What?” Sherlock asked, still sipping on his tea.

“Come on, then.” He said, eyeing his former flat mate expectantly.

“Why?” He asked, confused.

“Because I said so, that’s why. No come on!” He shouted and Sherlock jumped up, following them out the door. They exited onto Baker Street to see Olivia talking to Mycroft.

“Mycroft said they’ll take you.” She said, beaming.

“Oh good.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “You have Mycroft, you don’t need me there.” He turned to walk back into the flat.

“Sherlock, you’d better get into that bloody car, or so help me god, I will bludgeon you to death.” Mary said suddenly turning and grabbing the detective by his scarf.

“Yes, ma’am.” He said, swallowing thickly. Mycroft and John were very amused and Olivia nearly died laughing. They climbed into the car, leaving Mycroft and Olivia on the street, watching it drive away.

“Should we go?” She asked, looking at the elder Holmes and smiling.

“Heavens no.” He replied, bored, “Let’s go inside and have a little chat, shall we?”

“Ok...” She said, following him into Baker Street.

Sherlock was busy posting deductions on his website about the random people in the waiting room of the hospital when Lestrade, Molly and Mrs. Hudson all appeared at once. He looked up from his phone and immediately rolled his eyes, not wanting the hugs he was sure he was about to get.

“Oh, Sherlock! I’m so glad you’re still here!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, almost crying, “It’s a shame about the circumstances, but here we are, non-the-less. Mary’s having her baby on the same day that mad man has come back.” She shook her head, “Dreadful.”

“Do shut up, Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock groaned, turning to Lestrade.

“Any intel on where the video came from?” He asked the DI who shook his head sadly.

“I was at a pub watchin a match when it interrupted. Haven’t been to the Yard yet. Got the call about Mary and hurried over, picked up Mrs. Hudson along the way.”

“What do you think he wants?” Molly asked suddenly, quietly.

“What does he ever want?” Sherlock asked, “I just can’t fathom how he did it.” He scoffed audibly at himself, “He shot himself in front of me, and now he’s back?” He shook his head,

“This is either a brilliant scheme by someone to get me off for my murder charges, or it’s him, and he’s back, which means he’ll be out for blood, my blood. Possibly all our blood, save for Mrs. Hudson.” She let out a small noise, covering her mouth.

“That’s not good.” Molly sighed.

“Yes, but let’s forget about that until we have an actual reason to worry, for now... Let’s be excited, baby Sherlock Watson is on it’s way!” Sherlock said, turning to sit in his seat. The other three exchanged confused glances, shrugging it off and sitting down, waiting for any news.

Three hours later, John walked out, taking off his scrub cap.

“Well?” Sherlock asked, barely looking up from his thinking pose where he was laid out across five chairs in the waiting area.

“She’s begun to push finally, they’re thinking the baby could be here in a few more hours.” He said, smiling. Molly and Mrs. Hudson let out noises of glee, Molly nudged a sleeping Lestrade who perked up, rasping something about police tape and crime scenes.

“God, she’s only just now pushing!” Sherlock sprang up, “How long is this going to take, having babies is so tedious!” He began walking the way John had just come from.

“Uh, Sherlock!” John shouted, following the detective, “Where are you going?” “Clearly you two can’t do this without me. I’m coming in to help.”

“There are nurses in there plus her doctor... I think we’ll fare just fine without you too.”

“I’m your nurse, right?” Sherlock said, turning to look back at his blogger, “I’m going in to help you. You need me in there, admit it.” John stared up at him, unsure whether he should be angry or thankful.

“Yeah. You’re right.” John shrugged, opting for a passive approach and passed by him, heading back into the room. Sherlock followed holding his hand up so he wouldn’t see and indecent parts of Mary.

“Sherlock’s here.” John said, reaching Mary’s side.

“Oh, good.” She said, the words turning into a moan of pain as a contraction hit, “This is bloody awful.” She cried, John wiped her forehead with a moist towel.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He smiled and leaned down, kissing her.

“It’s your fault, you know.”

“Yeah, again, I know.” He scrunched his nose and Sherlock scoffed.

“Enough, enough. Let’s get this baby out of you, already.” The detective demanded, pushing one of the nurses out of the way and holding up Mary’s foot on his own, John shook his head, laughing as Sherlock shouted, “Now push!”

Two more hours later, there was a little baby Watson.

“Violet.” John said quietly, looking down lovingly at the small child. Sherlock smirked over his shoulder, observing everything he could about the baby, trying to deduce what it must have been like inside of a womb.

“That’s...” Sherlock breathed, “That’s my mothers name.” He furrowed his brows, looking to John, “You named your daughter after my mother?”

“Well, neither of us have parents...” He said, his mouth in a slant, looking down at the sleeping mother of his child, “So we figured, why not. Your mum and dad would make great grand parents.” He bounced the sleeping child lightly as she began to stir, rocking her back to sleep quickly.

“They’ll be ecstatic.” Sherlock smiled, genuinely smiled at John, “They assumed they’d never be...” He stopped his sentence, John understood him.

“Well, you can tell them that they can pamper mine.” He smiled up at the detective and Sherlock nodded, “Would you like to hold her?” He asked and Sherlock shook his head.

“Oh, no. I’ll probably drop her, or something.” He stepped back and John rolled his eyes, “No you won’t.” He stepped towards Sherlock, holding the child out, “Go on, then.” Sherlock sighed, reaching out to take the baby in his arms and as he did so, he found he was a natural at holding babies, as he expected himself to be, he was genius after all. John felt a slight tightening in his chest as he watched Sherlock hold her, it wasn’t a sight he’d expected to see, ever. And after the tightness was gone, it was left fluttering, he hadn’t realized how much he longed to see that sight.

Two months and three weeks later, they were sitting in Baker Street. Mary, John, Sherlock, and Olivia, who was holding Violet. They were having a nice visit, laughing and talking about nothing in particular. Olivia had nearly forgotten why she’d come to see them in the first place, they’d been so accepting.

Suddenly, the door to the flat opened and three men stepped through, all brandishing hand guns and Sherlock stood as did John. Mary grabbed a hold of the chair, cursing herself for not having her own gun on her and Olivia turned her back, shielding the baby from any shots that might be fired. Suddenly there were light foot steps and they knew what was coming, well all of them except for the two newer girls in the room.

“I heard this was how Magnussen did it.” An Irish voice called out, “Came in with guards.” His voice was amused and when he stepped through, Sherlock nearly ran at him. As Moriarty smiled, the rooms atmosphere changed, “How boring, right? Then he, soiled your fireplace.” He looked at the place in question, “Taught him everything he knows. Or rather, knew. Thanks for that by the way.” He winked at Sherlock standing before them in all his glory, his hands in his pockets.

“How?” Sherlock asked, his jaw clenched.

“Could ask you the same thing.” He sang his reply, rolling his eyes, “Oh Sherlock, blanks in the gun, fake blood on a timer, it was staged, the same way yours was. Did you really think I’d shoot myself, all because of you.” He smiled again, “I mean we had something special, but not that special. Come on, be reasonable.”

“So why have you come back?” John asked, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white.

“Seemed like the right time. Sherlock was being sent away to go die in the middle east. Couldn’t have that, no sirree.” He shook his head, glancing up at John, “Good to see ya, Johnny boy.” He shifted his eyes from John to Mary who was eyeing him warily, “You too Rebecca.” John snapped his attention to Mary before turning back to Moriarty, “Oh! My bad, it’s Mary!” He slapped his forehead with his hand, “Silly me.”

“What do you want?” Sherlock growled.

“It’s it obvious?” He stopped his pacing, glancing up from the floor to Sherlock, his eyes threatening, “I just wanted to show you that I’m real. That the video wasn’t some pre-recorded prank.” He stepped closer to the detective, “I’m here, Sherlock. I’m not going anywhere.” He shook his head, his smile still wide, “Not ever.” He whispered, stepping even closer to the detective before John shifted in front of him, creating a barrier between him and Sherlock.

“Nope.” John growled, “Not this time. You’re not getting near him.”

“Shouldn’t your priority be protecting that new baby of yours?” Moriarty asked, turning his gaze to Olivia in the corner of the room, “Oh! Is that her nanny?” He asked suddenly, he then began to walk lightly to them and Mary stood, creating a barrier herself, this time, before John could move.

“You will not touch her.” She said, threateningly.

“No?” He asked, his smile turning devious, “Ok.” He shrugged and stepped back, returning back to the safety of his body guards, as if he was truly afraid of what Mary could do, though it seemed unlikely.

“Leave.” Sherlock demanded and Moriarty frowned.

“Oh, alright.” He kicked at the ground before turning, he swiveled back briefly to look at Olivia, “Hey, Olivia, I’d say give my love to your mother, but, she’s already in the room.” He smiled and turned around, shouting behind him as he descended the steps, “See you around, boys!” They all stood silently as they heard the car out front drive away, John stood unmoving, hardly even blinking. Sherlock had retreated into his mind palace. Mary took Violet out of Olivia’s arms so she could hold her close and Olivia sat on the couch, hugging her legs to her.

“So that was him...” She stated shortly, looking at the three catatonic people in the room, “Hello!” She shouted and John snapped out of it, closing his eyes and laughing.

“A.G.R.A.” He growled and Mary looked at him, concern filling her eyes.

“I should have told you the moment...” Mary began, but stopped when John looked at her.

“R stands for Rebecca. Clearly.” He shook his head, not wanting to let on that he knew what it the A stood for as well, “A.G. Though.... Annie Green... Why couldn’t I figure that out?” He then turned to Sherlock who was glancing at him sideways, “You did, though, didn’t you?”

“Almost immediately.” Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes as he moved to sit in his chair. Mary sniffled as she rocked Violet against her.

“So...” Olivia said, “Let me get this straight, not only am I your daughter...” She looked up at Mary, “But you knew?” She asked, looking to Sherlock, “You’ve let me stay here all these months, pretending to look for my mother, when all along, she’s been right here?”

“Mmm, yes.” Sherlock replied shortly, his hands steepled in beneath his chin.

“Great. Awesome.” She stood, her face unamused as she turned to storm out of the flat, “Thanks a lot. Really.”

“Olivia, wait!” Mary shouted, handing Violet off to John as she followed her other daughter down the stairs. John hesitated before placing Violet on Sherlock’s lap and running after them. Sherlock opened his eyes at the added pressure, looking down at the cooing baby who was leaning helplessly against his arms.

“This won’t do.” Sherlock sighed, picking her up and staring into her face, “We’ve got to do something about that.” Violet smiled, drool dripping from her mouth down onto Sherlock’s trousers. He followed the trail of liquid, looking back up after it his, unamused.

John reached the bottom of the steps as Mary began talking to Olivia.

“I had no other choice, believe me, when I say this, it was for the greater good.” Her accent had completely vanished and John stood, awestruck.

“So this is you?” He asked, stepping off the bottom stair as Mary turned, looking sadly at John, her hands still on Olivia’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry, John.” She sighed, her mouth slanted.

“No, it’s fine.” He nodded, “It’s nice to see you finally being honest, please, continue.” He held up his hand, beckoning for her to finish her story.

“Olivia...” She sighed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind the girls ear, “I was young, and I got offered the job of a life time. But it was dangerous. Under cover work... I couldn’t bring you along, and I had no family to give you to.” She rubbed her hand reassuringly along the girl’s arm, “If I could go back now... I’d do it all differently.”

“I wouldn’t ask you do to that.” She sighed, “You’ve got a great gig now. A husband who loves you. A beautiful daughter.” She smiled, “I don’t care why you gave me up... It’s fine. I just wanted to meet you, and now I have. And better yet, I’ve met my sister.” She shrugged, “That’s all that matters.”

“Two beautiful daughters.” John piped up, stepping closer to them.

“What?” She asked, Mary turned to her husband, who smiled.

“Look, something brought you to us...” John sighed, “You were meant to find us, obviously. Knowing what we know now we can’t turn you away. It’d be wrong of us... We...” He sighed again and Mary nodded.

“He’s right.” She said, “You can be a part of this family too.”

“Really?” She asked, a smile forming on her face.

“Yeah.” Mary said, an accent returning a bit, “We’ve already grown accustomed to having you around, besides, who else will babysit for us? Sherlock?” She began laughing and John turned quickly.

“Ah, right, Sherlock.” He hurried up the steps and Mary and Olivia hurried after him. They all ran into the flat to find Sherlock on the floor with Violet, trying to teach her how to hold her head up on her own and crawl.

“That’s it! You’ve got it now, Violet!” He exclaimed, raising and lowering his head, Violet following along, her tongue sticking out between her lips as if she was concentrating extremely hard. John smiled widely, shaking his head at the sight, and his chest fluttered again, a feeling he’d been getting a lot when around Sherlock and the baby. He kept surprising him.

A few weeks later, Sherlock’s parents were over, visiting with the baby. They’d brought a plethora of toys for her, dresses and bows as well. Even Mycroft had contributed a gift or two to the pile. John, Mary, Sherlock, Mycroft and Olivia were all sitting around, talking amongst themselves. Sherlock scoffed at how domestic he’d become when the doorbell rang.

“Be a dear and get that, would you?” Mary asked Olivia, who smiled and ran down the stairs, opening the door. There was nothing but a small package, a strange seal on the envelope and when she brought it back into the room, Sherlock and John straightened up.

“It’s from him.” John growled, eyeing the package warily. Sherlock took it from her and opened it, pulling out a long gold string.

“What...” He furrowed his brow as he looked at it.

“Anything else?” John asked, grabbing the envelope. He opened it and pulled out a few pieces of straw, “No.” He breathed, nearly dropping it.

“What?” Olivia asked, “What’s it mean?”

“He likes to use fairy tales.” Sherlock said, holding the gold up to the light.

“Oh, so what, he’s comparing himself to... Rumpelstiltskin?” She asked, as she said the name the pieces connected, “Seriously!? But no one has made a deal with him!” She shouted, Mary looked over from her place next to the Violet’s.

“What are you talking about?” She stood and walked to him, eyeing the gold and the straw.

“Moriarty is comparing himself to the fairy tale character Rumpelstiltskin, the one who makes deals in exchange for the first born child of a person... And...” Sherlock stopped talking as he saw Mary’s face change.

“No.” John said, noticing the change as well, “What’d you do?”

“He...” She breathed, steadying herself, “This identity... I assumed it with his help.”

“Really?” Sherlock asked, “It’s so simple though...” He stopped talking after receiving several angry looks.

“So... He wants to collect...” John said, sniffing, “We can stop that.”

“He’s already collected.” Mary shook her head, “I... Did a few things for him in return; Took care of a few people-” She held her hand to her head, breathing heavily.

“Not to interrupt...” Mycroft said, “But I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“We don’t need your help.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Whether you want it or not, you’re going to get it, brother mine. I’m afraid I’m invested.” He turned away, almost disgusted with himself as he looked at his mother holding baby Watson. John sighed as he looked away from Mycroft.

“Everyone’s invested, Sherlock. He’s not threatening us, he’s threatening a child.” John growled, “My child.”

“Beg your pardon, but she’s not the first born...” Olivia said suddenly, “That’d be me.”  
Weeks went by and they’d begun to form a plan. Much to Sherlock’s despair, Mycroft was heavily involved. They’d lure Moriarty in and take him out before he had the chance to take anyone. John arrived home that night, ready to go over the details with Mary and Olivia, Sherlock was waiting outside to come in and talk about his role. Then they’d all go over to Baker Street and prepare.

He walked into a quiet house.

“Mary!” He shouted, walking through, a tired smile on his face, “Where are you?” He furrowed his brow, running up the stairs, to find the upstairs empty. His heart began racing as he descended the steps, almost running into Sherlock as he did so.

“They’re not here.” Sherlock said, and John rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that.” He replied, his heart beginning to pound in his ears as he walked into the kitchen. There was note sitting on the table. He grabbed it, tearing it open and reading it. He began shaking his head.

“What is it?” Sherlock asked.

“Nope.” He said, still shaking his head, as he re read the letter.

“John.” Sherlock said, and the doctor in question looked up, his eyes wild as he ran from the house, flagging down the next cab, Sherlock hot on his heels, climbing in after him.

“Baker Street.” John ordered and they were on their way.

“Will you tell me?” Sherlock asked, a few minutes into their cab ride.

“Not yet.” John growled, “I have to see something first.”

“Alright.” Sherlock sighed, unsure of what to do, so he remained silent as they made their way to 221B. When they arrived, John sprang out of the car, running into the flat, leaving Sherlock to pay for once. When Sherlock entered the sitting room, John was running into it from upstairs.

“Her room is empty. They’re gone, they’re really gone.” He began to panic and Sherlock’s eyes widened as he grasped the situation. He led John to his chair, taking the letter from his hands as he opened it.

_My dearest John,_

_I apologize for the manner with which we’ve gone about this, leaving town. It seemed the safest option. To leave without a word as to where we were going. I need to keep them safe. I hope you understand that. I hope you’d do the same. I know you’d do the same. As long as James Moriarty is alive, we will never be safe. But hopefully where we’re going, he won’t find us. So long as no one looks for us. You must promise me you won’t come looking. I’ll try to find a way to send you pictures as Violet grows. You must know I wouldn’t have done this if I had any other choice._

_Forgive me,_  
_Mary Watson, Rebecca Arrington, Annie Green..._

Sherlock nearly crumpled the letter from frustration, but opted for setting it aside. He couldn’t get mad, not yet, he had a deteriorating John Watson to deal with. As he looked at his friend, who had his head in his hands, he had no clue of what to do. He hadn’t seen him look this bad since he’d seen him at his grave side. John was sobbing freely now, not caring who was there to see him.

Sherlock knelt in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder. John flinched at the touch slightly, looking up from his hands to stare incredulously at Sherlock. Even when his eyes were blood shot and there were tears pouring down his face, he still managed to look surprised and baffled at Sherlock’s display of affection. The surprise soon wore off though and he went back to crying. Sherlock remained at his side.

“We’ll find them.” He promised quietly, deciding to text Mycroft later.

It took a couple months, but Mycroft’s team finally found them hiding in Montana. Sherlock arranged the flight and packed John’s things himself. It was easy since he hadn’t brought much with him when he moved back into Baker Street all those months before. It pained him to see his friend leave but he knew it was for the best. John still wasn’t sure.

As much as he wanted to see his daughter, he didn’t want to leave Sherlock behind even more. He knew if he left now he’d never come back, it was as if he’d be going into witness protection. At least that’s how Mycroft made it seem.

They stood at the airport, this time right before security. It was like deja vu, only this time, John was the one being sent away.

“I will miss you, John.” Sherlock said sincerely, and John shook his head.

“You prat.” He sighed and Sherlock stared at him, confused.

“I’m sorry?” Sherlock asked, John laughed.

“Never mind.” John said, shaking his head harder. Sherlock held out his hand, the sigh all too familiar. John continued to shake his head, “No.” He said and Sherlock withdrew his hand. John then pulled him in for a hug, not letting go until Sherlock hugged him back, “Normally a person returns a hug.”

“Oh, right.” Sherlock said, slowly wrapping his arms around the shorter man, as soon as he did, he knew he’d made a mistake telling John to go, “I will miss you. I mean it.”

“I know.” John said into Sherlock’s coat collar, “I’ll miss you.” He managed to say, they remained in the embrace for a few moments longer, finding a strange comfort in each others touch. Something new, they’d just discovered, and yet had no more time left to study further.

“If you don’t hurry, you’ll miss your flight.” Sherlock warned, backing away from John after they’d released each other.

“Yeah, yeah.” John sighed, picking up his back.

“Goodbye, John Watson.” Sherlock said, stopping and John looked back, smiling sadly.

“You know, just because we probably won’t ever get the chance to say it ever again...” John breathed, remembering when Sherlock dared to say that phrase, following it with a ridiculous cover, “I do love you, Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock lifted his chin at that, clenching his jaw, his eyes becoming hardened before he allowed himself to smirk.

“I know.” He said, “The sentiment is reciprocated.” John laughed, knowing that’d probably be the best he’d ever get out of the man, and he turned his back on him. It was more metaphorical than he wanted to believe, but as he walked away from Sherlock Holmes, he walked away from that part of his life. He was heading to Montana to stay under the radar.

There he’d raise a family, grow old with Mary, and probably die warm in his bed at the ripe old age of 90. And suddenly with every step he took, the less sure he became that that was the life he wanted. His breathing quickened and his heart began to race and he found himself looking back, telling himself that if Sherlock was still there, then he would turn around, tell him he didn’t want that life. That he wanted to grow old with him, solving crimes and god knows what else. When he looked back, Sherlock was no where to be seen.

There was no sign of his ridiculously long coat at all. He turned back, it was his time to go through security.

“ID, passport, ticket.” The guard said, bored with their job. John stood there, clutching his bags and his passport and his ticket, and suddenly he didn’t care anymore. So what if Sherlock wasn’t there, not everything was about fate. He looked at the guard and shook his head, backtracking. After quite a few steps of walking backwards, he turned, breaking into a full sprint across the airport. He dropped his ticket on his way, but it didn’t matter. Maybe someone would pick it up and get a free trip to Montana.

He ran out of the airport, looking around wildly in all directions, searching for a cab. He soon gave up, deciding to run. He’d spent the last few years of his life running after this man, and it seemed right that he run to him.

He ran down streets and through alleyways, remembering that first run through London with Sherlock, how alive he’d felt. This was easily comparable to that. This time he knew what he was running for. He was running towards his future, his unpredictable future. Baker Street wasn’t far, he made it in no time, at least that’s how it felt. As he stood outside of the door, catching his breath, he heard the faint sounds of violin music coming from the flat. He smiled, the tune was slow and melancholy.

“Good.” John breathed, pushing open the door. He ascended the steps as quietly as possible and when he opened the door, Sherlock had his back to him. He suddenly stopped playing, turning slowly to see who’d entered.

“You’re supposed to be on a flight.” Sherlock said, setting down his instrument.

“Yeah, well it’s not what I want to be doing.” John responded with a shrug.

“Oh?” Sherlock asked, “But it’s taking you to your family.” He said quietly, letting his eyes drop, “To your home.”

“This is my home.” John replied quickly, Sherlock’s eyes flicked up.

“Well, yes, London has always been your home, but you can’t let your fear of a different place get in your way of being with your family.” He said quickly, John shook his head.

“Shut up. No. Listen to me. You... Are my home.” He said it slowly, as if Sherlock couldn’t understand what he was saying.

“John.” Sherlock furrowed his brow, stepping forward, John took a step forward as well.

“You should be with the people you love.” He said, it was as if he was baiting John.

“I am.” He said and Sherlock shook his head.

“There is a difference between the love you have for me and the love you have for Mary.”

“You’re right, there is.” John agreed, Sherlock nodded, allowing his head to drop once more as if he’d just heard what he’d needed to hear, “She is the mother of my child, my wife. But she’s also selfish, she does things in a manner in which they benefit her specifically. You on the other hand, you may not go letting on, but you do things with my best interests in mind. You’re the person I see myself spending the rest of my life with, Sherlock, you. Not her. Sure, she’s got my daughter. But I weighed the options... And I would be miserable without you.”

“You’d get used to it.”

“Would I?”

“You have before.”

“Did I?” John asked, stepping even closer to Sherlock, they were mere inches from each other at this point, “You weren’t here, Sherlock. I grew a mustache for christ’s sake. I visited your grave on a weekly basis, I talked to your grave whenever I was there alone. I had dreams nearly every night, some were good, some were memories, some were very bad. Hell, I still have dreams about you. Sometimes I wake up worried that you really did die and this has all been a dream.” He laughed to himself, “This is where I belong, Sherlock, not in Montana. Not anywhere but here, with you, in Baker Street.”

“You expect to live in Baker Street for the rest of our lives?”

“No, I expect us to retire to the country when we’re older. You’ll take up some obscure hobby, and I’ll keep writing, maybe at some point I’ll write a book about us. Wouldn’t the world love that.” He smiled as did Sherlock.

“Beekeeping.” Sherlock said suddenly after a few moments of silence.

“What?” John asked, looking up at Sherlock, mouth slightly agape.

“If we were to retire to the country side, I’d take up beekeeping.” He smiled.

“You have thought about this.” John said.

“Well, I’ve weighed the outcomes of a lot of different decisions, and I came up with that one based on the idea that you and I...”

“Shut up.” John said, stepping up to Sherlock, grabbing his hands suddenly. The detective looked down, his eyes widening.

“John, I-” Sherlock breathed, unable to finish as his breath hitched as John looked up, his thumb running across his knuckles.

“You...” He reached up, his hand cupping Sherlock’s cheek. The detective leaned in to the touch, “What, Sherlock?” He began pulling his face down to his, so they were centimeters away from one another.

“You are my heart, John. Without you, I don’t think I’d be able to feel.” His revelation stopped John in his tracks, this bringing together of their lips completely forgotten in his mind as he absorbed what Sherlock had just said. Sherlock stayed put, cheeks flushing as he realized he’d rendered John utterly speechless. Suddenly John snapped out of it.

“Damn.” He said and Sherlock laughed.

“What?”

“I didn’t know you were going to be so poetic, I’d have prepared something better.” John smiled, dropping his face a bit, Sherlock kissed his forehead as it pressed against his lips, using his fingers to raise John’s face back up.

“You have a life time to write me a sonnet, I’ll settle for straight forward.” He smirked.

“Alright, I am in love with you, Sherlock Holmes, so utterly in love, it drives me mad sometimes.” Sherlock moved in, his lips brushing against Johns.

“I know.” He whispered against them, closing the gap finally, for the first time, they were connected.


End file.
